Seducing an Angel
by Jade Pen
Summary: Roy Mustang has managed to get Alphonse Elric into his house. Now, can he find a way into the young man's heart? [Roy x Al, based on themes from Touka Koukan.]
1. Good Morning

**Title:** Seducing an Angel  
**Author:** Jade Pen  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairing:** Roy x Al  
**Status:** 1/5  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA.  
**A/N:** This fic was partially inspired by the list of Roy x Al "themes" posted on Touka Koukan (archive(dot)toukakoukan(dot)com(slash)resources(slash)royalthemes(dot)html), and each chapter will borrow from one of those themes.  
**Theme:** #1: "Good Morning."

* * *

Dawn in Central was an event that few individuals bothered with experiencing. The frantic pace of the military, even after five years of constant warfare, made sure of that. This being said, those few souls that had an eye for beauty made sure to get up early; dawn cast the entire city of Central in a golden light, and for that time, it seemed that the world was worth the effort of fighting for. 

Roy Mustang, of course, had an eye for beauty. He had once had two, but he had sacrificed that in an effort to buy peace... both for his nation, and for himself. He hadn't gotten exactly what he had asked for... but sometimes, he thought that the new state of affairs was better than he had hoped.

Despite what most individuals believed, Roy Mustang was a morning person. While he was preparing himself for the day, or going through any of the mundane tasks that he had assigned for himself, he could bring himself to care about their completion. It wasn't until he arrived at headquarters, and the guards gave him a glare that spoke volumes about what they thought about his attempted coup (it always made Mustang want to scream: "Five years after the fact!",) that he began sinking into the despair that would last well after he went home.

It was for that reason that he had decided to purchase a mansion three years ago. The expanded hallways and near-labyrinth of rooms kept him far more entertained than his previous, drab apartment had offered. And, although he wouldn't confess it to anyone, it had given him a fleeting hope of improving himself: since he couldn't hope to advance in the military, he settled for improving the one aspect of his life that wasn't under constant scrutiny.

_Though those days have changed,_ Roy thought with a smile. He pulled out one of his duty uniforms from his closet, and smiled as he saw the four golden stars shining on the shoulders, two on each side. This day, unlike all of the others for the past five years, was actually worth the effort of preparing for. So, prepare he would.

Roy's manor, for no other term would suffice for a house of such magnitude, had been constructed with a definite purpose; to distract his mind from the futility of his struggles. Therefore, there was no definite plan to its layout; every so often Roy found himself lost in his own house, and he had even found himself savoring the sensation, as he strolled through room after room until he finally found his destination.

Even still, it _was_ his house, and he only found himself lost when he allowed his mind to wander. That morning, he did not allow any wandering of _any_ sort; he marched straight to the bathroom, two floors down and seven rooms over from his bedroom, on the other side of the hall. As was normal, he gently closed the door behind him, but didn't lock it. When he lived alone, there was no need to.

It wasn't until he had finished his shower, and was staring at his face in the mirror, that Mustang realized just how far he had let himself degenerate. His face, unshaved since his date four days ago, had become stubbly; his hair was even more of a mess than usual; on top of that, his face was far more hollow and burned-out that he had realized. He frowned, and reached for a razor. If he was to make himself presentable, then there was no time like the present.

He frowned again, though, as he finished shaving the right side of his face. To deal with his left, he'd have to remove his eye patch; Mustang didn't relish the thought of seeing one of the few wounds that didn't improve his looks. Still... it would be best to get it over with, and shudder in private, than to walk around Headquarters half-shaved. So, he carefully peeled off the eyepatch.

There was a gasp somewhere on his blind left side. Mustang wheeled around, and saw... Alphonse Elric. The young man (with the body of a teenager, which confused Roy to no end,) was still in his pajama pants, a change of clothes and a towel draped over his right arm. His hair, long enough to rest on his shoulders, was a complete mess. He was breathing heavily, probably due to having gotten lost in the halls, but his eyes were wide as they gazed directly at Roy's left eye.

With a smooth motion, Mustang grabbed the eyepatch and put it on his eye. It took him a moment to regain his composure; when he did, he stated: "Alphonse. I didn't see you come in."

"I'm sorry. The door wasn't locked, and when I saw you shaving..." He was blushing, Roy noted, and his attention was fixed directly at the older man's face. "I'm sorry," he added.

"It's all right." Roy looked back at the mirror, and frowned. "I probably should have locked the door." He didn't add that there was a part of him that was _glad_ that Alphonse had found him, and that the younger man had been entranced by his looks. Speaking of which... "Is shaving really that interesting?"

A nod from Al. "I've never seen anyone do it before. Brother... never grew old enough to need to. He might be doing so now, though." There was a hopeful tone to that voice, Roy noticed, as though Al was trying to convince himself that his brother was still alive, was still needing him... Even after five years of hearing no word.

Roy nodded, then reached for his razor again. It was at that point that the quandory hit him: he still couldn't shave without removing the eye patch. After a moment, he sighed. "Alphonse, I can't do this while you're watching."

In typical Elric fashion, Al dodged the implication with a question of his own. "How did you... what happened?"

"A cyborg. A cyborg with a vendetta against me and enough firepower to act on that vendetta." He offered a bitter smile. "He caught me by surprise. He would have killed me, if Hawkeye hadn't killed him first."

"May I?"

Roy turned his face just in time to see Alphonse reaching for his eye patch. He didn't offer any resistance: he had learned that trying to deny Al was like trying to stop a tidal wave: offering more resistance only made the end result that much more dangerous. _No wonder Edward always gave in to him._ Roy stiffened as gentle fingers disappeared into his blind zone, and couldn't suppress a shudder as those fingers followed the line of his jaw.

"Rough." Al closed his eyes temporarily, the better to savor the sensation, then opened his eyes and reached for the eye patch. Once more, Roy didn't offer any resistance, though he was severely tempted to. Slowly, the cloth was lifted up, and Al stared into what had once been a pearly orb with an onyx circle superimposed on it. Now... he shuddered. "I'm sorry. We should have helped you."

Roy gave a very brief shake of the head, slight so that he wouldn't dislodge Al's fingers. "Your brother was rescuing you at that time. He was the one that made the correct decision."

Innocently, Al's fingers roamed back down, and softly rubbed the stubble. "That's... strange. It's rough, but..." His eyes narrowed in concentration once more, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks once more. "It... feels kind of good. Scratchy, but good." It was with a frown that he moved over to Roy's right side, and felt his smooth skin. "But this side is soft."

Roy had to stifle a chuckle. Quite obviously, Alphonse hadn't gotten used to his body, even after five years: most of that time had probably been spent in searching for a way to find his brother. _Just like them,_ he thought, _One sacrifices his life to give the other one a complete body, and Al wastes it trying to give his brother a body in return._ He did sigh, though, as he looked into Alphonse's eyes. _He should be happy. He shouldn't be so overriden with guilt that he can't enjoy what his brother gave him. Someone should teach him what he's missing._

Mustang was stunned as he considered the implications of what he had thought. Then, there was a smirk, the trademark Roy Mustang Smirk that appeared so suddenly that Al stopped moving in bewilderment.

It had been a long time since the Flame Alchemist had a challenge, when it came to the battlefield known as love. Most women were more than happy to be wooed by him, and he found the difficulty always came with the inevitable breakup. With Alphonse, though... the smirk widened. _An innocent angel? Living with me? Old enough to be legal but not old enough to have really given a thought to a relationship?_ Alphonse was starting to get worried: Winry had always complained that Edward's troubles started with a smirk, and if that was any guideline to go by... _There might be a god, after all._

So thinking, he gently grabbed Al's hand, and rubbed it across his face, from right to left. The transition between the smoothness of his skin and the roughness of his stubble was pleasurable enough to deepen Alphonse's blush. He repeated the gesture, with a similar result. "Does it feel good, Alphonse?"

"Yes. Yes, but..."

"Hm?" Roy ran that soft hand across the line of his jaw once more, this time continuing past the wrist and rubbing against the forearm.

At least, he was, until Alphonse wrested his arm out of Mustang's grip, and stammered, "I-I need to get breakfast ready, and you n-need to get ready for... for... work." He took a deep breath, and bowed. "Forgive me for intruding!" And with that, he bolted, blushing furiously and nearly tripping over his own feet.

Roy sighed, and leaned out into the hallway. Al was long gone, of course, and in the maze of hallways, he could be anywhere; from up in the attic to all the way outside. Roy blinked his one eye: the sun had become quite bright, and the sudden light attacked his nerves without mercy. As Al had said, he would have to get ready soon, or he would be late... and that was the last thing he wanted, considering the opportunities now open to him.

Still, as he went back to the mirror, and observed the blush on his own features, he had to sigh again. _The problem with angels,_ he told his reflection, as he finished shaving; _Is that the real ones, the pure ones with beautiful souls, can't really be seduced. They're too shy for that, and they don't think about their own bodies in that way. It's almost impossible._

The Flame Alchemist smirked as he walked towards the new day, and he cracked his knuckles in anticipation. _I've always been one for a challenge._


	2. Kind, Gentle Hands

**Title:** Seducing an Angel  
**Author:** Jade Pen  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairing:** Roy x Al  
**Status:** 2/5  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA.  
**A/N:** This fic was partially inspired by the list of Roy x Al "themes" posted on Touka Koukan (archive(dot)toukakoukan(dot)com(slash)resources(slash)royalthemes(dot)html), and each chapter will borrow from one of those themes.  
**Theme:** 2: "Gentle/Kind Hands."

* * *

Roy Mustang was not a person given to introspection. He found much more profitable uses of his time than sitting and brooding, and he tried to avoid or organize situations that might cause unnecessary nostalgia, so as to avoid disrupting his routines. 

Still, he knew his own weakness, both physically and mentally. He knew, for example, that he was a naturally lazy person; that's why he constantly challenged himself with short goals which, easily achieved or not, prevented him from becoming complacent. He also knew that he was easily bored; so he spent as little time alone as possible. In the end, most of his dates were as boring as staying alone in his house would have been, but it was the companionship that counted.

Above all, Mustang hated silence. Silence was the sound made when something went horribly wrong; when the battlefield had been filled with casualties, when a tragedy prevented its victims from mourning, when... something went horribly wrong.

So, he did his best to banish silence as well as he could. There was the radio, of course, but it mostly carried the same news about different battlefields: "More men killed. Parliament swears revenge." So it had been for the past five years.

It had surprised Roy, when he first found out, that he had musical talent. Not much, of course, but better than the nonsense that kept pouring out of the airwaves. Originally it had just been informal attempts: humming while he read, snatches of songs while padding through his mansion, and the like. Then, after awhile, he had decided to play the piano. It was something to distract his mind, and while he played... it would help to clear his thoughts, and sometimes that was all he needed.

Such as now, while he was considering what to do with Alphonse. The boy had locked himself in the library, emerging only occasionally for food or rest, then returning as quickly as possible. Roy felt a small twinge of guilt at this: yes, Al was starved for stimulation, and he certainly hadn't _complained_ about the incident that had happened two days earlier, but... all the same, Roy got the feeling that he had done something wrong, and that he need to rectify the situation.

And that was why he found himself playing the piano in the late evening, his bare fingers skipping across ivory keys to tease out a melody. It was, in the end, much better than his usual performances, which was surprising. As he tickled out the final chord, he let out a sigh as silence wrapped around him again.

At least, until the sound of clapping filled the air. Roy spun around to his left (_I should have oriented all of the doors to the right_, he thought,) to see Alphonse standing there, a dreamy smile on his face. The boy whispered, "Beautiful. I didn't know you played the piano."

The Flame Alchemist offered a smile. "It's something that I've learned to do. You would have known that, if you had bothered to keep in touch." It was only a mild reprimand; more to underline Mustang's regret than to attempt to point blame.

"I know. I'm sorry... I should have come to you earlier."

_Another difference between the brothers,_ Roy thought with a frown, _Edward would never apologize to me._ "It's all right. I'm sure that you had your own reasons." Noncommital, classic Roy Mustang. That line also had its standard effect on Elrics.

Silence. Al seemed to be considering what to say, but it was taking him too long to make up his mind. Finally, Roy changed the subject: anything to fill in the emptiness. Anything to keep him from feeling that he had just messed up. "Alphonse... did you ever learn to play the piano?" A bit weak, but Roy actually knew surprisingly little about Al's personal life: something he'd have to remedy if his plan was to work.

The boy smiled softly. "No... Mom tried to teach me while I was young, but I wasn't very good at it. Then..." The smile wavered. "Well, a suit of armor isn't exactly going to be able to play it. The hands are too large, and a gauntlet just isn't gentle enough for it." He frowned. "There were a lot of things that I couldn't do... or at least, that's what Winry said. She... felt sorry for me."

"Would you like to learn?"

Gray eyes widened at this, and Al argued; "I was on an important part in the research, and I should probably be getting back to it..." At the look on Mustang's face, he added, "M-maybe at another..."

"Alphonse?" The act wasn't fooling Roy Mustang for a minute. So, he assumed a tone of command. "Come here." To his delight, Al nodded and walked over. "Sit down." He motioned to the right side of the piano bench, and the younger man obediently took his seat. "Hold out your hands."

It was a testament to Roy's charisma that Al obeyed before his conscious brain had an opportunity to act. The Flame Alchemist could have that effect, when he wished. With one smooth motion, Roy grabbed the younger alchemist's hands, and looked at them with a critical eye. "Hm... gentle yet precise." _And soft, too,_ he mentally added. "Much better than mine." So saying, he carefully positioned the pale fingers over the keys, then looked into Alphonse's eyes. The boy was blushing again, and his hands were trembling. Roy offered a smile. "Try to relax. Let me lead. Just get a feel for the music."

With a brief nod, Al closed his eyes, and his body relaxed. With that gesture of trust, Roy began playing, positioning his own fingers over each of Alphonse's. Glorious music filled the air, and as Mustang watched Alphonse's reaction, he noted the look of pleasure that slowly crossed the younger man's face.

Alphonse was feeling overwhelmed by the experience. No one in Resembool had any musical talent _whatsoever_, and he had spent far too much time alone, so his hearing was quite sensitive. Hearing something like that... it was wonderful. The fact that the hands over his own were so _soft_, completely unlike what he had anticipated, only added to the effect. He had expected them to feel like the pyrotex Roy's gloves were made of: rough and harsh. But, of course, they weren't: they moved him with a gentleness that few people, even his brother, had bothered with. And when his eyes opened, he saw that Roy was smiling at him; a kind expression that few individuals got to see. It made Alphonse Elric feel... unique.

It took him a moment for his conscious mind to catch up with his position: namely, the fact that, in a round-about way, he was holding hands with Roy Mustang. _Major General_ Roy Mustang. The Flame 'Too-hot-for-his-own-good' Alchemist. To his brother, the Source of All Evil. Possibly the largest pervert in the Amestris military: the sort of person that his mother had warned him about (in a teasing way, but still.)

_But_, the Elric decided, _I think he's different than that._ And he smiled.

It took another moment for Al to realize that the music had stopped. And that Roy Mustang was staring at him with a smile that was positively _hungry._ For just a moment, the younger man debated the merits of bolting as fast as he could; but he knew that those hands, as kind as they were, wouldn't be letting him go anytime soon. As they slowly raised him to his feet, he wondered if he would want them to.

"Do you know how to dance, Alphonse?"

"W-well..." Al fought a losing battle with his own nerves; Roy had already pulled him close, in a position ostentatiously for dancing. He had to crane his neck upward in order to look into Mustang's eye; while not as short as his brother had been, Al was far from a giant. "A little," he confessed, "Not very well."

"We can't have that, can we?" Roy's smile transmuted into the Smirk that Alphonse had learned to both fear and anticipate, and the other man added; "Like before: relax, and let me lead."

The Flame Alchemist waited for Al's breathless nod, and he started. It was a slow dance, the pace being set only by Roy's whim and the tune by his humming, but somehow, Al found himself enjoying it. It was easy to just give in to the moment, to cradle his head against the broad chest and let those gentle hands hold him. A few times, he swore that he was going to trip over his own feet, or was just feeling awkward, but Roy's hands would catch him and pull him close. Slowly, he found himself just following the older man's lead. He muttered, head firmly tilted downward, "I'm not... doing too well, am I?"

"If you were a normal twenty-year-old, no. Considering that this is your first time..." Roy looked down, and affectionately ruffled the dark blond hair. "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. Your brother wouldn't approve of what you're doing." _I don't approve of what you're doing_, he silently added. _You've missed too much of your life already._

There was a pause, then Al leaned into the touch, smiling softly as he looked up. "I know... But I owe him that much. I can't stop until I've gotten him back. I can't... enjoy what I have if he can't."

All at once, and before Al knew what was happening, Roy dipped him. Al, having only one leg on the ground, clutched desperately at Roy's arms, and pulled. In response, Roy leaned in, his face hovering a few inches from Al's. Despite the move, however, Roy seemed concerned. "He promised that he would help you get used to your body... didn't he?"

A mute nod. The Flame Alchemist sighed, and leaned in closer, tilting his head so that he was whispering directly into Al's ear. "That's why you began growing your hair out. You made the same promise to him that he made for you."

Alphonse nodded again, and tried to adjust his position so that he could rest both legs on the floor. When he tried, though, Roy stuck one of his legs under Alphonse's, keeping him pinned and off-balance. "He... promised that, if I couldn't enjoy my life, then he'd live his enough for the both of us, until I got my body back. Now that I've got mine back, I need to..."

He couldn't finish his statement, as Mustang's hands suddenly let go. For a horrible moment, Alphonse knew that he was falling, and he also knew that he couldn't catch himself. A split-second later, two gentle hands caught him, one under the shoulder and the other at the hip. Carefully, almost tenderly, Roy pulled the blond closer to his body, and whispered, "Denying yourself isn't what Edward wanted. He wanted you to enjoy yourself. To be honest... I want you to enjoy yourself, as well."

Al was trembling, blushing, and off-balance. He was caught between the feeling of security he had from being held, and the fact that Mustang's knee was only a few inches from a rather sensitive part of his body. He was breathing heavily from the sudden fall, but sighing in relief from the fact that his faith in the older man hadn't been misplaced. Despite all of that, he still managed to squeak, "Maybe... that wouldn't be such a bad thing."

There had been a question, gnawing in the back of Mustang's mind for so long that he had almost gotten used to it. He hadn't asked before, because it wouldn't have been fair. But, at that moment... he had to know, before he could proceed. "Do you trust me, Alphonse?"

"Yes." Simple, pure faith, and the gray eyes gazed at him with confidence. "You won't hurt me."

"Are you sure?" Roy knew that he was pushing his luck, but he needed to know. "I've let many people down in my life. I've killed and I've lied, and I've left more lovers behind me than you will ever know. How can you be sure that you can trust me?"

"You didn't let me fall." Alphonse smiled. He saw through Roy's game immediately, and he knew that the older man wouldn't betray him. Tease, possibly; play around with, without a doubt. But he wouldn't betray someone he liked. "I trust you."

Those simple words, spoken without guile or calculation, struck Roy Mustang right in the heart. Very few people actively trusted him: they _wagered_ on him, or _relied_ on him, but all of them were transactions of one sort or another. Something like this, with no obvious trade or exchange being made... It was remarkably close to affection. Very close to affection. If he were the sentimental sort, it could be _considered_ affection. But it wasn't. Of course.

To prove his point, Roy Mustang decided to see how far Alphonse would go. In his own defense, Mustang would point out the fact that, given the position and Al's obvious vulnerability, the end result was nearly inevitable. It was almost the boy's fault; he was so trusting, that Roy couldn't stop himself from taking advantage of that situation.

He nibbled on Alphonse's earlobe. For just a moment, Al's breath hissed, as his back arched involuntarily and he nearly _whimpered_. Then his brain caught up, and what happened next was a blur of motion. Al grabbed Mustang's arm and wrenched his body over, flipping him onto the ground. The motion took all of two seconds, and when Roy cleared the stars from his eye and looked up, he knew that he had gone too far. Again.

Alphonse Elric was glaring at him, blushing furiously but with tears coming from his eyes. "I-I need to get back to my research," he whispered, "I'm s-sorry for intruding." And then he was gone again, moving far faster than Roy would have given him credit for.

Slowly, the Major General got up, and frowned. He had messed up, and the gentle hands that he had begun leading had just caused him more pain than Edward's auto-mail ever had. The worst part about it, and what really caused Roy Mustang pain, was the fact that he had brought it on himself. _I didn't BETRAY him, _he reasoned, _But I can see why he would overreact. I was just too forceful, I moved before he was ready. I won't make that mistake next time; I'll only move when he wants me to. I'll have him yet._

And yet, the silence was overwhelming. Roy Mustang decided to leave the mansion and give the younger Elric some peace; both to think about what had happened, and so that he might follow his obsession. As he reached the door, though, the State Alchemist stopped, and slumped against the wall. The silence was overwhelming, and he simply couldn't rouse himself from the guilt. He knew that he would feel guilty about the situation for some time; he also knew himself well enough to know that he would be worthless for the rest of the day, and possibly the next.

The silence was deafening, and it was because something horrible had happened. Roy Mustang _had_ betrayed his angel, and he had let go. Again.


	3. Military Uniform

**Title:** Seducing an Angel  
**Author:** Jade Pen  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairing:** Roy x Al  
**Status:** 3/5  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA.  
**A/N:** This fic was partially inspired by the list of Roy x Al "themes" posted on Touka Koukan (archive(dot)toukakoukan(dot)com(slash)resources(slash)royalthemes(dot)html), and each chapter will borrow from one of those themes.  
**Theme:** #5: "Military Uniform."

* * *

"Major General!" The door to Roy Mustang's office flew open, as though hit by a sledgehammer. As though five years had never happened, an angry Elric stomped into the office, his eyes flashing fire and his temper very much on the short end. 

Reflexively, the Flame Alchemist replied, "Ah, Edward, it's been... Alphonse?"

It was the younger Elric, his slate-gray eyes narrowed and his entire body shaking. His right hand was clenched around a sheaf of papers, and his left was nervously running through his long, blond hair. "I need to talk with you!"

"Oh?" Roy smiled, as he looked at the younger man. "Unfortunately, I am currently busy with the last-minute preparations for the promotion ceremony. Lieutenant Hawkeye _insisted_ that I work quickly; considering the sheer amount of unnecessary papers, I will need to split my attention between you and them. Do not mind me." He motioned to two large stacks of papers that wobbled ominously at the sides of his desk, and at a rather large metal bin that was placed precisely in the middle. With that, he picked up his jade pen, the same one that he had used earlier, and signed one of the papers with a flourish.

"U-uh..." That was not the reaction that Alphonse had been expecting, and that threw him off of his carefully-rehearsed script. So, he tried to improvise. "It's... about my research. I think..."

There was a snap, and a rush of flames leapt from the bin. Alphonse involuntarily jumped, and his thoughts scattered. Roy looked up, mildly amused. "Please, continue."

But, Alphonse's train of thought had gotten horribly derailed, so he changed the subject. "Hawkeye t-told me about the upcoming promotion ceremony. Um... it's going to be a banquet, held tomorrow, right?"

For just a moment, Roy stared at the younger man, his one eye narrowed. Then, abruptly, he chuckled. "Yes, it will be tomorrow, and yes, it is _called_ a banquet. But when you're the one receiving the promotion, you can barely get a bite in edge-wise."

Alphonse found his eyes straying to the pyrotex gloves easily perched at the edge of the metal bin. Almost without thinking, he muttered, "Oh?"

"Indeed. There are, of course, the insufferable speeches..." He uttered a pronounced sigh, playing a very convincing role of the bored connoisseur, "Which begin before the food is served, and continue far into the night. All the while, there are those subordinates who try to ingratiate themselves with you, and those superiors who try to make sure you know _exactly_ where you stand with them. Combine that with the inevitable questioning about forms and procedures..." Roy slumped his head against the back of his left hand, and gazed at Al. "It could be more accurately described as a torture session. They even make sure to put the best food right in front of you, so you can watch everyone else eat."

"Oh... I see... I didn't know that getting promoted was so much work." All during that monologue, Al had found his gaze locked on the glove: it was fascinating, the intricate alchemic design stitched onto the back, the strange rasping noises that it made on the steel bin, the way that it sparked with every contact...

Which was why he was surprised when Roy abruptly stood up. His eyes involuntarily followed, to stare at the older man. His uniform jacket, while still immaculately clean, was unbuttoned and loose in the front, exposing his white undershirt. He was sweating slightly, a side-effect of working so closely with his chosen element, and a part of Alphonse _wanted_ to see more...

_It's not fair,_ he decided, _That Roy Mustang makes the uniform look like they were designed with him in mind._ The shoulders were wide enough to accentuate his form, with the hips cut _just_ right, and when he posed, hand in pocket, the boy _swore_ that he could see an aura. But a nice aura: not like the pink sparkles of doom that Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong had. _On the other hand_, Alphonse thought, _Maybe he'd rip off his shirt, too, and I'd see..._

It was with a dawning sense of horror that Alphonse made the connection: _Roy Mustang has given me a uniform fetish!_ He had no idea what his brother would say if he knew; besides the obvious: "That bastard Colonel! General! Whatever rank he's squirmed to, he's a bastard! I'll kill him for this!" Just thinking about that situation,and what would surely happen shortly thereafter, was nearly enough to make him sick.

Another snap, and another spread of fire, wrenched Al's attention back to the situation at hand. Namely, a concerned Roy Mustang, who had just incinerated another short stack of papers. "Alphonse? Are you all right?"

"Y-yes! Of course!" He offered a smile, and knew from the look on Mustang's face that the older man wasn't fooled for a minute. He added, apologetically, "What were you talking about?"

And there was the Smirk, which gave Alphonse the sinking feeling that Roy Mustang knew _exactly_ what had been going through his mind. "I was remarking upon the fact that the preparation is hardly worth the end result. It is the rank, not the ceremony, that truly matters." A long pause, broken by the sound of Roy tapping his fingers against the metal bin. "Alphonse, you still haven't told me why you're here."

"W-well..." He still couldn't concentrate, not with that action grabbing his attention and welding his neck so he couldn't turn away. "I thought that I had made a breakthrough, so I wanted to talk with you... but... it's kind of complicated. I-I'll let you get back to work, and we can talk about it when you get home." He offered a hopeful smile. "Will that work?"

No such luck. The Smirk told him that much. "Oh no, I'm most intrigued."

"U-um..." It took a moment, but Alphonse decided to rush through the explanation as quickly as possible. Now he knew why his brother had always been in a bad mood when he left Roy's office. "Well, you see, I think that the biggest barrier was actually keeping the Gate in one place. So, if two circles were used, and we interlinked them with the binding array, then it might be-"

Snap. Flash of flames. Smirk. "You may wish to slow down, Alphonse. Most of those terms are unfamiliar to me."

"I-I don't know if I can..." He offered a weak smile to Mustang. "It's kind of complicated..."

"Then, I assume the papers in your hand are notes. Let me see them."

Roy Mustang advanced towards him, and Alphonse stubbornly stared at the notes as though they were holy writ. Anything to keep from seeing the _predatory_ look on Roy's face, or to keep his knees from transmuting into jelly... Or to keep from thinking about how those gloves would feel, scraping across his hands or against his...

For the second time, there was that sinking feeling of horror. _Now a GLOVE fetish? _Alphonse felt a blush starting, and he wanted desperately to slap some sense into himself. _It's like Roy's perversity is an infectious disease!_ He didn't, of course, remind himself that he was actually quite intrigued by the thoughts that were running through his mind.

So, he offered no resistance when Roy's hand reached out and snatched the papers. He couldn't stifle the gasp that escaped his lips when the rough texture of the pyrotex scraped across the back of his hand. He could, however, feel apprehension at the fact that the Smirk seemed to _expand_, as Roy instantly picked up on what had caused the end result.

Innocently, Roy went back to his desk and sat down. He flipped to a page at random, and underlined one of the passages. "I see. Interesting. I think I'll have to take a look at this."

"B-but!" Alphonse tried to protest, but it took him a moment to organize a logical argument. "You've got work to do! You can't read the notes and use your alchemy at the same time!"

"True, Alphonse. And I would rather not have Hawkeye... expressing her displeasure." He looked up, and smiled. "Come here."

Like before, Alphonse found himself obeying before his mind could stop him. He stopped short of the older man's chair, and muttered, "Yes?"

"Here." Roy put down his pen, peeled off his left glove, and offered it to Al. "If you really want to talk about this at home, then help me."

The glove was too large for the boy's hands, but after a moment of struggling, he forced the pyrotex into a position where he could snap his fingers. He also struggled, with far less success, with the mounting blush, as the rough texture set the nerves of his hand on fire and nearly made him gasp again. He turned to face the metal bin, face set in concentration.

He didn't realize his mistake, that he had blundered right into one of Mustang's machinations, until he heard Roy's voice, right in his ear. "You know how my alchemy works, right?"

Al knew that his face had to be crimson by that point, but despite his nervousness, he found the older man's presence... invigorating. Excluding the fact that his body was having a remarkably hard time doing what he wanted it to do. "Y-yeah. I just need to... to... change the concentration of oxygen, right?"

"Brilliant." And Roy meant it, too. Alphonse had forgotten all of the nuances of the Flame Alchemist's technique, and to have identified it so quickly... "Your brother would be proud, Alphonse."

Al managed to squeak, "I-I think he'd kill me if he knew what I was doing..."

"Hm... true. You'd better be ready for him, then." The boy, even without being able to turn around and confirm, _knew_ that Roy was suppressing a laugh at the absurdity of the notion. They both knew that the Full Metal Alchemist wouldn't do anything to hurt his brother. But, still...

"Focus, Alphonse. Concentrate on the effect."

"I know, I know! I _have_ done alchemy before." Unlike his older brother, Al really didn't mind the teasing so much. He _did_ mind the fact that Roy was whispering into his ear; how was he supposed to concentrate when there was something so deadly right behind him?

"Now... do it."

Once again, Alphonse obeyed the command instantly. The results, however, were not pretty. As he had feared, Mustang's presence behind him was so _distracting_ that he really couldn't focus on the proper balance of oxygen in the effect. So, the fireball was much larger than expected. _Much_ larger. The flames erupted from the metal bin, where they belonged, to the two other stacks of paper, where they did _not_. The sudden rush of air had also managed to scatter them, which meant that there were several _layers_ of combustibles sitting on Roy's desk, which was made of wood, and the floor, which was of the same material.

There was a mad dash, as the two alchemists started gathering what papers were burning and threw them into the bin. The remaining stack of mostly undamaged papers was... quite depressing. Roy offered a wry smile as he picked up his pen: the otherwise white jade had black scorch marks across its side.A snide comment escaped before Roy could stop it. "Yes, your brother would be quite proud."

"I-I'm sorry! Please forgive me!" And with that, Alphonse made another mad dash: straight out the door, and onward. Roy knew that he wouldn't stop until he had reached their house. With a sigh, he stood up, and walked out of the door. He hoped to make amends quickly, before Al began sulking.

He didn't get far, before Hawkeye's voice arrested him. "Sir. A moment of your time."

_Not good. She's angry at me._ Roy slowly turned around, a smile on his face. "Lieutenant Hawkeye! I successfully cleared out the unnecessary paperwork!"

"That isn't what I want to speak with you about. Sir." Her voice was clipped and precise: too much so. Despite her long-held oath to not point a gun at _humans_ in times of peace, Mustang's eye followed her left hand; it was drifting much too close to the holster on her hip for his comfort.

"Oh? Then, what is it?"

"It's about Alphonse."

A feeling of panic began crawling up and down Roy's spine: one of Riza Hawkeye's few weaknesses was the Elric brothers. His worst fears were coming to life right before his eye. "Oh?" He prayed that she wasn't seeing his nervousness. Internally, he wanted to curse the pen: _If you give good luck, then now would be the time to manifest it. Before she says something like..._

Amber eyes bored into him. "I advise you against attempting to _seduce_ Alphonse Elric. He's young and innocent, and he's _vulnerable_ without his brother." The Flame Alchemist had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out: another one of her weaknesses was protecting the vulnerable. Combine the two... "Do not take advantage of him, sir. He isn't the same as the women that you love and leave."

"I suppose that now would be the best time to mention that I am actually feeling affection towards him?" _Leave it to Hawkeye to wrench a confession out of me at gunpoint,_ Roy grumbled to himself. "I agree, he isn't like the others. I don't plan to treat him that way."

For a long moment, the amber eyes held him in stasis, as Riza considered his words and compared them with what she knew of the man in front of her. Finally, she looked to the side. "I want to believe you, sir."

It was as good as a go-ahead, considering the source, so Roy could barely contain the smile on his face. "I am glad that I meet with your approval, Lieutenant."

"_However_." That one word grabbed Roy's attention more effectively than a gunshot ever would. "I know you, sir. I know what you really want is to be the one to take his innocence from him. You want to have another conquest on your record."

Perfectly true, and Roy could only nod in agreement. It was at times like this that he wished Hawkeye wasn't so good at reading him.

"I also believe that you could be the best person to help him, sir. He tries to hide it, but he's in pain, and there are very few people left that can reach him." Roy's eyes widened: that was a heartfelt confession and her begging him for help, in Riza-speak. "I won't try to stop you, sir. However," Roy braced for it, "If you hurt him..."

There was a pregnant pause. "If I hurt him, Lieutenant?" _Good luck, good luck, good luck... No bad luck, no..._

She offered a salute, her left hand resting easily on the butt of one of her pistols, and her face entirely expressionless. _Bad luck. _"I will not forgive you, sir."


	4. Congratulations

**Title:** Seducing an Angel  
**Author:** Jade Pen  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairing:** Roy x Al  
**Status: **4/5  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA.  
**A/N:** This fic was partially inspired by the list of Roy x Al "themes" posted on Touka Koukan (archive(dot)toukakoukan(dot)com(slash)resources(slash)royalthemes(dot)html), and each chapter will borrow from one of those themes.  
**Theme:** 23: "Congratulations."

* * *

It was _finally_ over. Roy Mustang found himself, nearing the middle of the night, _finally_ at the doors of his own house. He had survived another promotion ceremony: now he was offically Major General Roy Mustang. And he was _starving_. 

No matter how many times he went through the motions, or how many times he had to sit through the same bloody speeches, Roy never got used to the feeling of starvation that followed each ceremony. It was an exquisite pain: the physical sensation ofhavinga knifejabbed through his guts mixed with the emotional pain of watching others indulge themselves and expecting him to be _grateful_ for the honor of enduring whatever torture they could devise for the _hours_ the banquet lasted.

"Banquets," Roy muttered to himself, as he threw open the door, "Should involve _eating_. Being the guest of honor should entail getting the _largest_ portions." He frowned as he stepped through the entry hall, kicking offhis military-grade boots and hanging his coat on the rack. He also grabbed one of the lanterns that he kept in the hall: if Alphonse was sleeping, then turning on the electric lights would be cruel. _Besides, _he thought, _The light's more mellow. It won't wake me up as much. _

He added another complaint, as he padded down the hall, "If the generals enjoy _talking_ that much, why don't they choose someone other than myself to do so? Why don't _they_ offer a speech more to their liking? Why did they need to keep me _two hours after the banquet had officially ended?_" Roy stopped, and peered into one of the side rooms. It was a practice room: reinforced concrete, strong enough to withstand his fire. Which meant that his kitchen was at the other end of the house: a good seven rooms away. He sighed, and continued on.

"And I refuse to accept their excuse that it's _tradition_ for the guest of honor to speak while the _main course is being served!_" Few individuals knew that Roy Mustang enjoyed a good rant, in the privacy of his own home. Venting kept it much easier for his mask to remain in place when one of said generals came to call. Otherwise, there would have been a mass promotion several years ago, when a certain_senile_ and _decrepit_ Lieutenant General had decided that it was a good idea to taunt the Flame Alchemist. Roy had barely restrained himself from using his alchemy to clear out the entire top ranks, and leap ahead by fiat.

Not that he would be helped, of course. He already had a reputation as an 'unstable subordinate.' Just thinking about that designation was enough to cause his entire body to clench. Of _course_ a brutal tyrant would consider him an 'unstable subordinate!' Just because Roy Mustang refused to sit back and watch his nation dive headfirst into atrocity...

His thoughts stopped, as Roy found himself in a gallery. He didn't pay attention to the priceless works of art that had been gathered there: his concern was that the gallery was at the opposite end of the house from the kitchen. Somehow, while he wasn't paying attention, he had gotten lost.

_Lost,_ he thought wryly, _In my own house. I thought that I had gotten past that stage._ It took him a moment to get his bearings, and another to plot an alternate route to the kitchen. This time, he decided not to think about the banquet. At least, not until he had actually gotten something to _eat._ His stomach rumbled in protest: ranting was an outright exercise, and he couldn't muster the energy on an empty stomach. Which would have been his _fault_, if the generals had let him _eat_, instead of...

"Argh!" Roy found himself in a study. _His_ study, to be precise. Which was in the _middle_ of the house, and had not been anywhere _near_ his chosen path. "Enough!" He began storming through the rooms, one right after another, which resulted in him getting more hopelessly lost than ever. But, it let him vent, which was what he really wanted. Finally, he _burst_ into the kitchen, ranting about just _what_ he would do to the entire bloody _lot_ of generals, who were _always_ laughing at his progress... when he stopped short.

There, in front of him, on his own table, was a feast fit for a king. Lit candles shed a mellow light over the whole affair, and Roy found himself nearly _floating_ to the food, so enticing was the smell. Just before he sat down, though, he felt a pair of arms encircle his waist, and a comforting weight press itself into his back. He smiled at the whispered, "Congratulations, Major General."

Then the arms let him go, and he sat down. "Thank you, Alphonse. But... you really didn't need to do this."

"I-I know." The boy crossed over to Mustang's right side, a faint smile on his face. It was then that the older man noticed that Al was wearing an apron over his pajamas, of all things, and that he was panting slightly. Probably due to the sheer amount of work that he had done. "But you said that banquets never gave you enough, so I thought that you might appreciate this."

"I do." Roy quickly nodded his thanks, and dug into the food with a ferocity that did homage to just how badly he had been starved. He nearly burned his tongue, so hot and fresh was the meal, but the simple pleasure of _eating_ was enough to make up for it. His eye closed in his enjoyment, and before he could open it again, he felt two soft hands on his shoulders.

He had to fight a whimper as they _rubbed_. "I'm glad... I like seeing you this way."

"Oh?" Roy's shoulders tensed as Al rubbed a little too hard, but before he could say anything, the grip softened. "You're... really good at this."

The answer was a smile and a laugh. "It feels so normal. It's... homely." Roy rolled his shoulder, trying to get Al to go lower, and the boy obliged. "Brother never took care of himself, so I had to make sure that he relaxed. My armor didn't really feel anything, so I had to learn how to read his reactions. Even now... it's a good thing to know."

"Alphonse?"

"Hm?"

Roy's voice was low. "I thought that you didn't remember anything about that time."

"Oh! U-um... well..." The hands clenched on Mustang's shoulders, and Al stammered, "W-well... it's just that... I remember bits and pieces. Personal things, little things that we could do without thinking. Like... massaging, or some snatches of conversation. Little things," he stressed.

The older man took another large bite, the better to hide his concern. He didn't mind that Al had told a small lie: that was to be expected, especially from something so personal. What did concern him, though, was the fact that he was hiding something _else_. So, he decided to wait, and see if Al would drop a hint by himself.

It didn't take long. When he saw that Roy wasn't going to be saying anything soon, Al piped in, "I'm really proud of you. I mean, I knew that you were getting promoted and all, but actually knowing that it's official... it's nice, isn't it?" Roy took another bite, which prompted Al to ask, "What do you think? It's not too spicy, is it?"

It was all the Flame Alchemist could do to keep from snorting. "It's delicious, of course."

"Good." At the pause, while Roy was taking another bite, Al chimed, "I tried my best. I couldn't find the usual spices, so I had to try something new. I... I've never tried this combination, so I was afraid that I used too much, so-"

His speech was stopped cold by Mustang's fork dropping against his plate. His hands had gone nerveless, and his face was a study in horror. Slowly, he turned, his one eye focused on Alphonse. He had guessed, now he needed to know if he was right. "Al... what's wrong?"

"Eh? Oh... n-nothing! I was just..."

"Don't lie to me, Alphonse." There was just a hint of hurt to that voice, and Roy appeared quite concerned. "I don't like silence, and I can understand why you don't, either. But this... you always wait for a response before you continue. Something's scared you, and you're trying to distract yourself from it. What happened?"

For a long moment, the two stared at each other; slowly, Alphonse sank into the chair next to Roy, and cupped his head in his hands. "A-are you sure... that you want to know? It's not-"

"It is. I need to know." If it had been anyone but Alphonse, or if the situation had been anything but that, Roy would have congratulated himself on getting through another emotional barrier: to have actually touched something _personal_. As it was... he was bracing for the worst.

"W-well..." Al pondered how to continue, but in the end, he blurted out, "I was working on the arrays again, and I was thinking about what you said earlier; trying a seven-point circle with the Binding array. Well, when I put them together, I compared them with some of the notes... and it wouldn't work: it wouldn't bypass the exchange. I... I didn't want to accept that all of that work had been for nothing, but there it was! A dead end... nothing of what I did could actually be used." He slumped against the table. "No good... it's the fourth time I've hit a wall, and each time, I feel that Brother's slipping away. But this time..."

He looked up, gray eyes wide and tear-filled. "I heard him."

_That_ hit Mustang full-force, and he could barely manage, "Are you sure?"

For another moment, the two stared at each other, and then Al _collapsed_, sobs seizing his body and breaking his voice. "N-no... I didn't! I thought I did, but there was no one else there! So... so... I started talking to the transmutation array. I started asking it questions, and I was _expecting answers_! I thought I could hear Brother laughing at me, calling me an idiot for not being able to do anything. He... he said that he didn't need a stupid brother like me. He said that, if he had known that I couldn't do this, then he wouldn't have given up his body. He... I..."

It seemed like such a natural motion: Roy Mustang stood up, then kneeled in front of Alphonse, both arms open. The boy half-stumbled, half-fell into the embrace, and for a long moment, he could do nothing but cry. But, slowly, as Roy rubbed his back and muttered reassurances into his ear, the younger Elric started calming down. Finally, he whispered, "He said... that I was disgusting. He hated me for wasting the past five years. He... he didn't want me to be with you. He said that I was pathetic, needing you. And then... then..." The words were barely choked out. "He said that you'd just leave me. That you were just using me, like you used him."

"Roy... is there... something wrong with me?" The blond head tilted up, so that the boy was looking directly into Mustang's eye. "Am I... going..." He couldn't finish the sentence.

Roy knew that there were two ways he could answer. There was his typical answer; the manipulative kind, where he would promise to take care of the individual, offer hope and counsel that, on the surface, seemed like a good idea... And then there was the right way. The honest way. The one that he hadn't really used for a long time. The only one that was worthy of Alphonse. "You are. It was really only a matter of time. You've locked yourself into your research; you've become a hermit at a time in your life that you should be _enjoying yourself_. You're obsessed with returning your brother. That goal is a good one, but you can't keep this up. I can't believe that you've kept yourself isolated for _five years_! Your brother managed to keep his mind because you were there to ground him." Roy's tone became lower, more urgent. "You need to trust someone, Alphonse. Let _someone_ into your life! Don't end up like your brother!"

There was a long period of silence, as the boy considered these words. In that moment of silence, Roy thought to himself, _Congratulations. You've managed to single-handedly write yourself out of his life in the act of begging to let you help him. What he needed was a shoulder to lean on, you jerk, not a snide comment or a command. And did you have to bring up his worst fears? His brother would kill you if he found out, and he'd be entirely within his rights._

Silently, Alphonse distangled himself from Roy's arms, and he stood up. "I'm... sorry. I'll be returning to Resembool tomorrow. Thank you for putting up with me for this long." He started walking towards the door, shaking his head.

_Not this time. Not again._ "Alphonse." When he saw that the boy wasn't stopping, he added, "Stop. Please."

To his amazement, Al really did stop, though he didn't turn to face the older man. Seizing the moment, Roy stated, "I meant everything that I said earlier. I want to take care of you, I want for you to enjoy yourself and to experience life the way your brother wished for you to. I... don't want you to leave without knowing that."

Roy found himself staring at the younger man's back. He knew, in the pit of his stomach, that Al was just thinking of an appropriate parting shot, something scathing in response to his carelessness. He also knew, with absolute certainty, that he deserved it. That's why he was shocked when Al slowly turned around. "Would you... leave me? Are you just using me?"

"No." The response surprised Roy almost as much as it did Al: the older man was no stranger to hard partings, and he knew that he'd adjust. Eventually. So why was he holding on? "Earlier, I might have brought myself to. But... I can't. Not anymore. I won't let go until you do."

It took him a moment, with his one eye, to see that Alphonse was _twitching_, emotional pain twisting through him like a knife. More than anything, Roy wanted to stand up, walk over, and protect the life before him, to soothe his angel and make him smile again. But... he couldn't move. For all of his calm and precision, he couldn't risk causing pain to Alphonse again. So, he fell on his hands and knees, head bowed to the ground in a gesture of farewell. Finally, quietly, the boy whispered, "Prove it."

"What?" Roy's eye widened at the sudden change of pace, and he found himself unable to say anything else, or even to push himself up from his position.

The boy spun around, and took a step forward. "I need to know. I need to know that you won't leave me, that you don't just want to take me and throw me away." His eyes were hard, even with the tears seeping out of them. "I need... to know that my brother wasn't speaking to me. That I'm going to be okay. That... I'm not stupid for wanting you!" That last line was delivered with a tone of desperation, as though Alphonse was still wrestling with the words he had heard.

There was a long pause, where Alphonse was afraid to say anything more, and Roy was busy taking in what was said. Then, still staring at the ground, Roy whispered, "Two days."

"Eh?" This time, it was Alphonse's turn to be surprised.

Then Roy looked up, and the Smirk was on his face. He was confident again, even if he was gazing longingly at the boy. "It will take me two days to get everything ready. By the end of that day, I promise, there won't be any doubt in your mind."

"You're... making fun of me." Al's objection was only half-hearted, though: he wanted to believe the older man's words so _badly_.

"I'm not. If you are giving me another chance, then I won't waste it." He got up to his feet, and the Smirk softened. "I won't do anything that you don't want me to, that much is true. But if you want me to convince you... then I will." He didn't need to add the guarantee: _Roy Mustang never messes up twice_. So saying, he sat back down, and reached for his fork. "Until then... won't you join me?"

"Um..." Hesitantly, Al took a few steps forward, and asked, "Are you sure it's all right?"

"Of course." He took a large bite for emphasis. "Everything will be all right, Alphonse."

"Right." Al smiled. "Congratulations, Roy Mustang." _I trust you. I want you to win me._

An answering smile from Roy. "Congratulations, Alphonse." _I will not let you down._


	5. Wish

**Title:** Seducing an Angel  
**Author:** Jade Pen  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairing:** Roy x Al  
**Status:** 5/5 _Complete!  
_**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA.  
**A/N:** This fic was partially inspired by the list of Roy x Al "themes" posted on Touka Koukan (archive(dot)toukakoukan(dot)com(slash)resources(slash)royalthemes(dot)html), and each chapter will borrow from one of those themes.  
**A/N (2):** I would like to thank all of the reviewers, whose continued clamoring for additional updates kept this story from the dreaded 'Back Burner.' I hope that you enjoyed this story, and had as much fun reading it as I had writing it.  
**Theme:** #14: "Wish."

* * *

Alphonse Elric had always wanted to fall in love. Though he himself had forgotten this: the desperate longing for knowing what 'love' felt like, the jealousy he felt every time he saw a couple laughing and gazing into each other's eyes... even the guilt he felt every time he saw his brother, since he knew that Edward had sacrificed anything resembling a personal life to try to get his brother's body back; all of these things had kept him going while a suit of armor; the hope of experiencing true _feelings_ had anchored him, when he felt that his soul was floating away. 

And now... sitting in a private booth, in the most expensive restaurant in Central, gazing into the eye of Roy Mustang and smiling... he thought that he felt love. He didn't have any experience to go by, of course, but if the fluttering in his stomach and the way his heart was beating was any indication, he was head over heels.

For his part, Roy Mustang had gotten one of his three wishes. He had gotten to see Alphonse truly _enjoy_ his life, and he couldn't help a small smile from creeping across his face as he gazed at the boy before him. Al was positively _radiant_ in the candlelight, his skin shining like bronze and contrasting with his gray eyes and blond hair beautifully. He noted the slight blush on the younger man's face, and the way his eyes sparkled...

Al rested a hand on the side of his head, and whispered, "I... can hardly believe that I'm doing this. I never thought I'd be here, enjoying a date with you."

Roy offered an easy laugh. "It isn't so surprising. There are women who would kill to be on a date with me. I aim to please," he added, smiling.

In response, Alphonse had to stifle a laugh. "I thought that some of the girls at the beach were going to do that to me!"

Despite himself, Roy began chuckling, as well. "I think they were too busy swooning over your swimsuit to think about killing you."

"Mine?" There was a definite tone of disbelief in Alphonse's voice. "I remember hearing more than one scream of 'Marry me, Mustang!' Besides, yours were smaller." The boy blushed at the memory, but managed to keep his gaze level.

"True, but you simply look better." Mustang leaned in, smiling. "You should have seen the reaction when I put the sunscreen on you."

Al shivered at the thought. He remembered what _his_ reaction had been: remaining firmly planted, face down, on his beach towel until he could trust his body not to betray him. He had also mumbled complaints about how revealing his swimsuit had been: he was grateful, at the very least, that Mustang hadn't asked him to turn over. He didn't think he could have dealt with that kind of embarrassment.

He blushed furiously, and stammered, "A-and the play! I'm glad that you got us a private box... some of the girls in the lobby were really scary." He managed a mock-scared look, then giggled.

Once again, Roy smiled. The play, a comedy entitled 'A Scrap of Paper,' had been nothing short of hilarious. He had seen it before, of course: it wasn't a new piece by _any_ stretch of the imagination, but he wanted to make sure that Alphonse enjoyed himself. And, judging by the reactions, he had been right: the boy had laughed until tears started flowing out of his eyes, then he had leaned against Roy's shoulder, his entire body trembling with laughter even as he complained about his aching sides. The Major General's first thoughts had been that he was _grateful_ for the private box, so that the other patrons wouldn't have shot him disapproving glares.

The second... was that Alphonse really was beautiful, when he let his guard down. The emotions he felt were so _pure_, so completely uninhibited and heartfelt, that Mustang couldn't help but be drawn in. So he had snaked an arm around Al's waist, drew him close, and began rubbing the boy's side. Al had shot him one grateful look, his angelic features _glowing_, before he closed his eyes and snuggled closer. Other than a few helpless chuckles at a particularly funny moment, the boy didn't stir until the final scene. And yet, somehow, the older man hadn't minded at all.

Al poked at Mustang's hand, a concerned expression on his face. "Roy... are you all right?"

The Brigadier General snapped back to the present, and smoothly replied, "Of course. I was just remembering the plot of the play."

The boy blushed slightly. "I... don't really remember that. I blanked out after the first act." He offered a helpless smile.

"I know. That's to be expected."

"I-it is?" Al seemed confused by this, which elicited another chuckle from Mustang.

"It's actually quite common. The second act is much more sedate than the first, which encourages the patrons to spend more time... interacting with each other." He smirked.

It took Alphonse a moment to put the pieces together. When he did, though... "You've seen the play before! And... and... you _knew_ that I was going to fall asleep in the second act? You orchestrated the _whole thing_?" The expression on his face was a study in conflicting emotions: embarrassment at being so easily predictable, anger at being manipulated, relief that he wasn't the only one to act that way, and mingled awe and respect that Mustang would spend so much effort on him.

It took all of Mustang's willpower to not burst out laughing at this. His shoulders seized in stifled mirth, and his face was contorted with the effort, but he didn't laugh. Finally, he managed, "Yes, I did; that's part of the point of a date." Alphonse opened his mouth for a counter, but Roy cut him off. "You really are beautiful while you're asleep, Alphonse."

At a loss of what to say, Al's mouth opened and shut a few times, then he blushed and paid close attention to the candles. After a moment, he ventured, "I'm surprised that we haven't run into any of your subordinates. If you're out of your office for so long, they usually send someone to follow you."

Mustang smirked. "Oh, didn't you know? I'm busy cutting through the latest batch of paperwork. I am so busy, in fact, that I have instructed Lieutenant Hawkeye to not allow any distractions. I am certain that, after the first shock of disbelief, she will ensure that no idle personnel will interrupt my _busy_ schedule."

With a wistful smile, Al stated, "I didn't think that would work."

"Coincidentally," Roy added, "I have given Lieutenant Havoc the day off. Ihave been informedthat he can impersonate me quite well."

Al's eyes widened, and his gaze snapped to Roy's eye. "You mean... you asked Lieutenant Havoc..."

"No, of course not. I couldn't possibly ask him to inconvenience himself during a vacation. However," The Major General leaned in, and in a conspiratorial whisper, he added, "At the news that I was dating you, he was so overjoyed that he offered to do _anything_ to make my task easier."

"O-oh! I see." Al laughed. "I can imagine... how this would change things."

"Ah, does that mean that I've convinced you already?" Roy's tone was light and teasing: he didn't want Alphonse to think too far into the future, not when the present was still not settled. _Besides,_ he added to himself, _For this night, we can afford to think only of the present_.

"You're getting there" Al teased, "But I don't know..."

Roy smirked, because at that moment, their food arrived. "Eat first. After that, I'm playing my trump card."

"I can't wait." The boy looked down at his food, and gasped. Rich, tender steak; fried potatoes topped with caviar; and strawberries, which had been out of season for months; to name a few of the items. Al gaped. "Isn't this a little expensive?"

He looked up, saw the Smirk, and gulped nervously. Roy countered, "With my promotion came a _substantial_ salary increase. There's no need for concern."

"Oh..." Al looked at the food, and smiled. "I'd better not waste any, then." He took a bite of the caviar, and Roy smiled as the boy almost _melted_. "This... is really good!"

The Flame Alchemist was simply fascinated as he watched Al. While the boy wasn't as abrasive as his brother (_It's still hard to believe that they grew up together_, he mused,) the temptation of such excellent food was almost enough to override his manners. As Alphonse began tearing into the steak, pleasure evident on his face, a part of Roy wanted to laugh. To be honest, he felt like a wicked old demon: it was unlikely that the boy knew the full extent of why Roy had chosen that particular menu, and he was far too innocent to ponder the implications. Of course, Roy didn't mind that feeling in the least, and he leered at Alphonse as he began wolfing down his own food.

Far too quickly, it seemed, Alphonse had finished, and he gave a contented sigh as he looked at Roy. "Thanks... that was delicious."

Roy was stunned. Al's lips were stained a bright red from the strawberries, and in the light, with him blushing and so obviously happy... Roy found himself caught between two equally powerful responses. The first was to roar with laughter. The second... was to catch Alphonse in a brutal, possessive kiss. In the end, though, he settled for a neutral response: he grabbed a napkin, and ran it across those lips. It would have been much easier, too, if the boy didn't lean into the touch, smiling at the sensation.

_Don't do anything he doesn't want you to. Don't kiss him unless he asks you to. No matter how kissable or desirable he looks, or how tempting it might be, or how perfect you know it would feel..._ After taking a deep breath, Roy trusted himself enough to stand up and offer his arm. "Now, then... May I have this dance?"

Alphonse laughed. "Dance? But there's no music..." His voice faltered as, right on cue, a band began playing. "...You planned that too, didn't you?"

Roy frowned. "Actually, the cue was when I stood up. Ah, a pity that the world isn't perfect. However..." He offered his arm again. "The offer still stands."

"Hm..." Alphonse considered the offered arm like a particularly complex array: carefully and calculating all possible implications and angles. Finally, he whispered, "I... don't know. Is it all right for everyone to see us?"

"Of course not. That would be why I rented a private balcony."

"You _what_?" Roy decided that he liked that expression on Al's face; wonder and amazement playing equally with incredulity and scandal. "How did you... why did you..." It was obvious that Alphonse was completely caught off-guard.

So, Roy softly laid his hand on Al's shoulder, and whispered, "I told you that I would play my trump card."

"I see." The boy smiled, andlatched ontoRoy's arm. "I'll accept your offer." Without another word, the two strolled off, past table after table, up stairs, and across wide stone halls, until they reached a large balcony.

Alphonse couldn't stifle a gasp of amazement. Roy had planned for this night being the full moon, and the balcony was stunning: it offered a beautiful view of Central, and the wide marble area was lit only by a combination of torches and the filtered light from the restaurant proper. The soft lighting accented Alphonse's features, and he looked exactly as Roy imagined him to be: angelic. Unlike his brother, who detested _any_ sort of formal wear, Al looked stunning in his tuxedo, the black material setting off his blond hair wonderfully.

And Roy... was at his best; all smiles and laughs, putting the younger man at ease. He, at Alphonse's request, was wearing a dress uniform, though he had left his black coat at the restaurant's lobby. Considering the crisp, cool night air, he wouldn't have minded having it again. But, he offered his hand, and Alphonse accepted it, and they began dancing.

It was a slow song; Mustang had queued up a fair number of them, just to be on the safe side. As though by routine, Alphonse rested his head on Mustang's chest, and let the older man lead him. For the entire song, they remained that way; Alphonse trusting Roy, Roy leading Alphonse... It wasn't perfect, of course, but it was close. Mustang would settle for close. Then the music stopped, and Alphonse looked up, a faint frown on his face. "Roy... what am I doing wrong?"

_Far too perceptive._ Softly, Roy captured Alphonse's hands, and moved them to the back of his neck. Al took the hint, and linked them together: at the same time, Mustang encircled the boy's hips with his own hands, and he smiled. "Much better." He didn't offer any elaboration as the next song started, and they began dancing again. The older man noticed that Alphonse was blushing again: whether this was due to the fact that his entire body was now at the mercy of Mustang's hands, or because they were so close, was debatable. Still, after a moment, the boy closed his eyes and smiled, savoring the sensations playing across his body.

It was Roy Mustang's second wish come true. Here he was, holding Alphonse tightly against his body, and the boy wasn't objecting. No... he was _enjoying_ it. And he looked so vulnerable that way, so trusting and kind...

Slowly, so slowly that the boy didn't notice it, Roy slowed the pace of the dance, until they were both barely moving. He found himself being drawn to the boy, leaning in to drink in the warmth and the scent that was uniquely Alphonse's. The boy shivered at the warm breath on his face, and opened his eyes, but didn't object, didn't try to run away. At this gesture, Mustang narrowed the gap, judging the distance as best he could with one eye, tilting his face so that he could easily claim the strawberry-stained lips with his own...

Then drew away. _Don't. He doesn't want it. Don't take advantage of his vulnerability. Don't you dare hurt him again._ It was a testament to his self-control that the only betrayal of his emotions was the slight clenching of his hands, so light that most people would never have noticed it.

But Alphonse did. He found himself staring at Roy. "What's the matter?"

For a moment, Roy considered any of the myriads of little lies he had learned over the years: 'I'm afraid of commitment,' 'You're not ready for this,' or even 'You're not my type.' Yes, he loved Alphonse, but he didn't want to cause more pain to the boy: more importantly, he didn't want to take advantage of his position, or Alphonse's vulnerability. So, he told the truth. "I don't want to hurt you, Alphonse. I won't do anything to you that you don't want to do."

"I know." The concern on Al's face didn't dissipate, though. "Why are you so worried?"

"I... almost..." Roy turned his head to the right, so that he couldn't see the expression on Al's face. It was easier that way. "I almost stole something from you. It may not mean much to most people, but I don't want to risk that chance again. If... If I took that from you, you could never get it back, and..." He didn't add what was really on his mind, _It was so easy. It felt so right and it would have been such a wonderful thing. I don't think I'd be able to stop myself if this continues._ Instead, he cleared his throat, and muttered, "Maybe it would be best if we..."

He didn't get a chance to finish his statement. The two hands at the back of his neck rotated his head left and down, so that he was forced to stare into Alphonse's eyes. Without any warning, the boy leaned in, and claimed the older man's lips with his own.

For that moment, Roy Mustang was utterly paralyzed. He couldn't move, couldn't think; he felt only the soft lips pressed gently against his own, and the tremendous feeling of loss when they were withdrawn. Alphonse was blushing furiously now, but there was a small smile on his face. "I... know that I did something wrong. But, I want you to show me how it's supposed to be done." He closed his eyes, and shivered in anticipation. "I trust you, Roy. I want you to kiss me. Please?"

Slowly, carefully, the Flame Alchemist leaned down, and pressed his lips against Alphonse's. There was a moment's hesitation, then Roy ran his tongue along that soft mouth, tasting strawberry and... something else. He pressed slightly, and the boy opened his mouth and leaned in, entirely at the older man's mercy and not wanting it any other way. Tenderly, now, Roy ran his tongue through that warm cavern, searching for some classification for that elusive taste that had him enthralled. Finally, after he memorized the boy's mouth and withdrew, panting, he found it: _Alphonse. It's a taste that's uniquely his. Warm and sweet, and absolutely delicious._

Alphonse opened his eyes, breathing heavily and shivering. And yet, for all of that, he was beautiful. His eyes sparkled in the dim light, the blush on his face contrasted with his skin, and he was _radiant_. An angel, just like Mustang had wished for, and the angel was _his_. After a moment, Alphonse managed, "That was... perfect."

No teasing this time, simply a, "Anything less wouldn't be worthy of you."

It was then, as Alphonse lay panting in Roy's arms, so _needy_ and so _real_, that Roy felt his life finally snap together. The night was perfect, and it was still young: even if he didn't get his third wish, he was content with this; not perfect, but it was close enough, and Mustang could settle for close enough. He had an angel; shivering, leaning, and _perfect_; resting in his arms. For this night, this onewonderful night, he wouldn't let go. He pledged, both by the subjective full moon and the completely objective totality of his being, that he would be whatever his angel needed or wanted.

If anything, the blush on Alphonse's face deepened. "A-again?"

Roy could only smile, as he leaned in, his voice low and soft. "As many times as you want."


End file.
